


Russians On Visiting America

by AuroSya



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Humor, M/M, Travel Tips, foreigners, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:25:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroSya/pseuds/AuroSya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A random little one-shot inspired by 4 Russian Travel Tips for Visiting America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Russians On Visiting America

**Giving Gifts to Americans**

“Greetings, comrade!” Ivan stood in the front doorway of a large, deluxe apartment complex in upscale New York. He wore his typical long beige trench coat, complete with leather gloves and a scarf to accompany the cold air that came with the winter seasons. There was a smile on his face as he looked over at the blonde American standing with the partially opened door still being held by his hand.

“Sup, Ivan,” Alfred replied, although he didn't really seem all that interested in getting the actual response to 'what was up' with his Russian friend. He stepped aside, kicking some of his tennis shoes and boots out of the walkway before gesturing for Ivan to come inside. “We've got a good fifteen minutes before the game starts, so just come on in and get comfortable, dude.” 

Doing just as offered, the tall, bulky man stepped across the threshold and chuckled gleefully. “It is very nice of you to have invited me over for a Sunday afternoon viewing of American football!” He exclaimed as he began to strip of his coat and gloves, and then crouched to untie the laces tying together his boots. Once they were loose he stepped out of them and he had tucked them to the side, he then followed his friend deeper into the house. 

“Don't thank me,” Alfred immediately replied, tossing the words over his shoulder as he vanished into his kitchenette to start fishing out a bountiful amount of snacks. “When I heard you haven't ever watched a game I had to invite you over, you know?”

Ivan wandered his way into the living room, which seemed to take up most of the apartment space as it contained a large television screen and various other electronic accessories. He glanced around, fiddling with the end of his scarf before remembering the item that he had tucked in his pocket. “Ah! Comrade!” He called out eagerly right when Alfred reappeared with an armful of chips, dip, pretzels and bagged popcorn. Pulling out a small rectangle wrapped in gift paper, he held it out to the American despite how it was obvious that his hands were full. “This is for you! As a token of my gratitude!”

After a minute of staring at the item in Ivan's hand, the sandy blonde deadpanned. “Uh... Oh,” he eventually said dumbly, and quickly deposited all the snacks onto the coffee table in front of the longest couch. He turned back to Ivan and stared at the gift for a second longer before hesitantly taking it. “Th-thanks, bro...” Alfred said as he began to slowly tear away the wrapping paper. “You really shouldn't have...” 

The sight of the actual gift made him go abruptly silent. 

“... You got me cigarettes?”

“Da.” Ivan smiled broader. “They are Russian imported.”

“Oh. Huh.” There was another pause. “Cool.” 

 

**Talking to American Women**

“Why are you staring at me?!” Amelia asked, turning to the man who, out of the corner of her eye, had been looking at her for what seemed like forever. They were on a subway, with both of them standing side-by-side, much to the young blonde's dismay as she gripped tighter onto the stirrup dangling from the ceiling. 

Ivan jolted, not expecting such an exclamation, and when he looked down at the American woman next to him – who he had been stealing longer than normal glances at as they had rode along – he was startled further to see how defensively her blue eyes were flashing. “A-ah...” He could only let out a confused sound, like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Really, though, he wasn't sure how to reply to her.

When she didn't get a response quick enough, Amelia turned fully to face him and openly began to glare. “I have a fresh can of mace in my purse and I am not afraid to use it, big guy.”

Panicked sweat immediately began to gather on Ivan's forehead. One of his hands lifted as a sign of peaceful surrender, and he stammered out in his thick accent: “Please be forgiving me! I did not intend to make you uncomfortable!” 

“Well, ya did, bucko,” the young woman retorted, placing a hand on the generous curve of her hip and then jutted it out to the side, full of attitude. “Now close your jaw, pop your eyes back into your sockets and face forward, little Russki.”

For quite a few moments longer Ivan stared in shock before looking away, staring down at the floor like a scolded child. _Why are American women so strange?_ He found himself wondering, and then remained like that for the rest of the subway ride. 

 

**Socializing With Americans**

That leg just wouldn't stop moving. 

At first Ivan hadn't been perturbed by it in the slightest. But then his American friend decided to shift it again... And again; and again. 

By the fifth time, the Russian was contemplating shackling the other's ankles to the legs of the chair. 

Alfred babbled on and on about the hockey match that they had just watched on television the other afternoon – football season was long since over – and either didn't seem to notice or didn't care about how often he moved his legs. First they were crossed at the ankles, then they were normally spread, and eventually it got to the point where one was up and crossed over the other. That wouldn't have been a problem if not for the way his foot jiggled to an erratic, unheard tune. 

Honestly, it was all that Ivan could concentrate on, and his smile was already strained enough at it is, given how the team that he had been rooting for in the hockey game of conversation had lost. 

“... and I really think the refs made a good call with that one bogus shot. That player was totally up in the goalie's zone, and there's no way that the goal could have counted!” The blonde-haired American was saying, leaning his elbow on the side of his knee for a second before sitting back and going, once more, to change his position. 

Before he could so much as touch his foot back onto the ground, however, Ivan had reached across from his spot on the couch to grab at the other man's calf. “Keep your legs still or I will break them.” 

 

**American Optimism**

The elevator doors slid open with an announcing ding, and two young men were startled to see familiar faces waiting for them on the other side. The taller of the two was the first to speak, flashing a smile as he greeted, “Privet, Alfred!” It was quite something to run into each other like this, and they both knew it. 

Alfred, looking slightly disheveled as he stepped into the elevator, clumsily jabbed for the button leading to his destined floor before replying, “Oh, heya, Ivan.” He sounded somewhat tired. Although, that didn't seem to deter his Russian friend. 

“How have you been, comrade?” Ivan inquired, genuinely curious about the other. It looked like he hadn't gotten a good night's rest, and his clothes weren't exactly the most professional – being a cartoon T-shirt and tattered jeans – so he definitely wasn't on his way to work. 

The American grunted. “I've been fine. Whadda 'bout you, dude?”

“Ah, how good of you to ask!” A bright smile once more had appeared on his face, and he turned his head to look directly at the slightly slumped man next to him. “I have been feeling a little under the weather. I am not sure if it is a cold or something much worse. However, I have been making sure to get plenty of rest...” 

There really was no way for Alfred to have predicted that his Russian companion would have taken his casual inquiry so seriously.


End file.
